


Light the Corners, Catch My Dreams

by tryslora



Series: Weavers [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Grief/Mourning, Possibly Pre-Slash, Shadows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After laying his father to rest, Stiles doesn’t want to be alone in the house. Shadows have teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light the Corners, Catch My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Prompt #14 - Shadows at fullmoon_ficlet on Livejournal. It's not even the story I'd planned to write... One of these days I might write the actual story of when Stiles's mother died, I suppose, but for now this one hijacked my fingers (and refers back to the other story).
> 
> This is the story of Stiles immediately after his father's death in my Weavers series. There's more to it, but I'm saving the rest for the actual WiP. :)
> 
> As always, I don't own the world or characters of Teen Wolf; I just like to play with them.

“The night my mom died—” Stiles’s voice trails off. He can’t do this now. He can’t talk. He can’t do _anything_ other than feel like something’s broken inside of him.

“Talk, Stiles.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be _shut up, Stiles_?” He manages to keep his tone light, even when Derek glares at him, but he doesn’t _feel_ light on the inside. He feels dark. Like he’s followed his dad into that grave. Like he’s never going to be able to feel good again.

“It hurt,” he finally says. He sinks onto the bed and reaches blindly for the threadbare stuffed bear that Derek holds in his hands. Stiles curls the bear close to his chest, clinging to it as his eyes close. “It hurt. And _this_ hurts. But the worst was the nightmares.”

Derek grunts, and when Stiles stiffens, he feels the bed shift and move. Footsteps as Derek gets up and walks away. That makes it easier, knowing that Derek has giving him space.

“I woke up screaming,” Stiles says softly. “I woke up, and I saw something at my window. Eyes, looking in. Staring at me. _Glaring_ at me, and glowing in the night.” 

“Was anything there?”

Stiles shakes his head, laughing a bit. He can see the irony now, but when he was so young, nothing made sense. “Of course not. My dad came running, and he threw open the window and he looked out, but there wasn’t anything. He promised me then that nothing could ever come in my windows and scare me. That my room is on the second floor, and I’d always be _safe_ here.”

Derek snorts, and it makes Stiles smile because for once, they’re actually on the same page.

“Yeah, looking back, it’s a bit funny, isn’t it?” Stiles manages to fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the bear still clutched tight. “I never told him that the big bad wolf found his way up here and forced me to do his research projects into the supernatural fuckery of Beacon Hills. I mean, you know he knows—” His voice catches roughly as he corrects himself. “He _knew_ about you and Scott and the pack and all the crap that’s been going on. But I didn’t tell him about all that time you spent climbing in my window. I wanted him to think I was still safe somewhere.”

“You were safe.” Derek’s voice is soft, low. Stiles thinks he means to be reassuring, but this is Derek, so who knows?

“Was I? How many times a week was something trying to kill me, or eat my gizzards?”

“You don’t have gizzards.”

“Beside the point!” Stiles rolls over, nuzzling down into the pillow. “Crunch my bones then. Shit was dangerous. It always has been and now dad…” He can’t keep going then, tears hot in his eyes. The pillow catches a sob.

The touch to his shoulder is awkward, but Stiles takes comfort from it anyway. He manages to get himself back under control, although his voice is muffled by the pillow. “Is the dreamcatcher still in my window?”

“The what?” 

He can feel the twist of Derek’s body behind him as he turns to look. “The spiderweb looking thing. Mom gave it to me when I was little. She said it would protect me, that the weave of it was powerful. And that I should always make sure it stayed in my window, or above the window. That way, nothing that meant to hurt me could get in.”

“It’s above your window.” A small pause before Derek asks, “Is that why you let me in?”

“Would you actually have given me a choice?” Stiles scrubs his face dry against the pillowcase before he rolls onto his back. His eyes ache, and the weight of the old bear in his arms is comforting. Derek is sitting by his knees, his body hunched as if the world rests on his shoulders.

“Stay in the guest room tonight.” It’s half a request, half an order, and Stiles smiles slightly to soften it. “I don’t think I can stay in an empty house. Or a dark house. Too many shadows.”

“And someone might need to check the window if you have another nightmare,” Derek says.

Stiles huffs a sigh. “Yeah. I might trust you to do that for me.”

Derek stands, arms crossed and body stiff. “You know you’re pack, right, Stiles?” Both eyebrows lift, and Stiles gets the feeling there’s more to that statement.

But at the same time, Stiles knows what he’s been thinking without telling anyone. This doesn’t change anything about Stiles’s plans for college. He’s still going away.

And he’s not all that sure he’s coming back. He needs to take care of a few things before he goes, so he can decide. He’s already got ideas about how to make sure Scott—and the pack, and Derek—are taken care of before he leaves.

Because that’s what Stiles does for the pack. He’s like human glue, and he takes care of them, weaving them together when they’re not thinking about it. 

He just doesn’t know if he can do it anymore. This just _hurts_ too much.

“Yeah,” he finally answers. “I know. Thanks for staying tonight.”

Derek reaches above the window and pulls down the dreamcatcher. He gently blows the dust away, then wipes it against his shirt before he replaces it on the window itself, hanging from the latch. It falls dead center in the glass. “I’ll chase the shadows. This’ll catch your nightmares before they can get to you.” He gives Stiles a look. “Sleep. You need it.”

Stiles doesn’t care that he’s still wearing most of the suit he wore to the funeral, or that his stomach is drowning in hunger. The exhaustion of the day is pressing him down into the bed, and he yawns in response before closing his eyes.

He hears the door latch softly, but he knows he’s not _alone_ , and that gives him the strength to finally let go and cry himself to sleep.


End file.
